


Breaking Point

by psyraah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyraah/pseuds/psyraah
Summary: “Roy,” Ed gasped.Roy’s heart hurt at the sound. “Ed, we’re coming, just—”“Roy,” Ed repeated. “Love your stupid ass.”And Roy hadn’t been able to reply.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A VERY LATE BIRTHDAY FIC FOR THE FABULOUS UME. I decided to essentially create a fic around several pieces of her [beatup!Ed art](http://uchiha-umeko.tumblr.com/post/150192522956/hello-yall-posting-some-hospital-themed), including [this one](http://uchiha-umeko.tumblr.com/post/123168064131/i-guess-i-was-in-a-kind-of-angsty-mood-when-i) which I have wanted to write about for ages, and also this [beautiful fluffy thing](http://uchiha-umeko.tumblr.com/post/148074172866/royed-week-day3-silver-lining-i-know-what-a-ring). Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, and for gracing everyone with your beautiful art. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Also kudos to Getti for helping me out when I was struggling with this *many hearts*

_A shot rang out, and the subsequent cry that fell like the blow of a hammer to Roy’s heart._

_Then another gunshot, landing with the gravity of the executioner’s axe._

_“Ed!” His own voice harsh in his hears, and no response. “Fullmetal,” he growled. “Respond, Fullmetal!”_

_Increasingly desperate cries joined his own, all met with a horrible, terrifying silence. Nothing except the forbidding grey of the concrete wall before Roy’s eyes, the cold air of the tower where they had set up. The only connection he had to Ed was the radio, whose silence was screaming at Roy._

_Horrible, damning silence. Roy clenched one gloved hand. “Fullmetal, report.”_

_The silence broke to the sound of static, and horrible gasping._

_“Ed!”_

_“South-west corner,” Ed gasped. “Shot. Twice.”_

_“On it, Chief,” came Jean’s voice over the comms._

_“And we’re coming in for backup,” Roy said immediately. Behind him, Hawkeye and Breda started moving. “Havoc, go to Fullmetal and—”_

_“Roy,” Ed gasped._

_Roy’s heart hurt at the sound. “Ed, we’re coming, just—”_

_“Roy,” Ed repeated. “Love your stupid ass.”_

And Roy hadn’t been able to reply. He had been frozen by the terrible finality with which Ed had said those words, and he hadn’t been able to tell the love of his life how much he had mattered—how much he _did_ matter to Roy.

The radio had gone silent. They’d found Ed, unconscious, blood everywhere (dyeing his uniform, dripping from his gloves, tangled in his hair). A mad rush to the hospital, and everything after had been a blur of blinding fear.

Now, there’s only stillness, and silence: white sheets, Ed’s splinted arm, Alphonse dozing in a corner of Ed’s hospital room, and the pronouncement of ‘we’re not sure when he’ll wake up’. _If he will_ had been left unsaid by the doctors who had relayed those words to Roy and Alphonse, four days prior. Four days, and every passing minute had Roy’s broken heart growing more frantic.

And through it all, guilt, guilt, guilt. Edward’s wounds, Edward’s life, but _Roy’s_ mission, _Roy’s_ command. As it always was.

Roy clenched his eyes shut so that the tears wouldn’t come, closed himself from the glow of the monitors and from seeing Ed—bruised and motionless—in the desperate hope that denying the image would deny the reality. But even if he let his imagination wander to happier memories, those were tainted by the horrific reality. The thought of Ed in their bed at home on lazy weekends wrenched at his heart when he thought about the impersonal white of the hospital sheets. The way that Roy’s heart leapt in happiness every time he saw Ed was far too similar to how it was pounding in terror and expectant grief. The gold of Ed’s hair covered in red and—

The door to the room opened quietly, and shut with a gentle click.

“Sir.” Hawkeye entered in plain clothes, sweater and trousers with her jacket slung over one arm. She scanned the room expectantly, before her eyes settled on Al’s sleeping form on one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, his legs tucked up under him and blanket sliding from his shoulders. Gently, so as not to wake him, she arranged the blanket so that it better protected him.

“Hawkeye.” Roy was surprised his voice still worked. Or rather, he was surprised that anything still worked. It felt like his entire body and mind had simply shut down over the past four days.

Quietly, she deposited a backpack on the ground next to the bed, before collecting a chair so that she could sit next to Roy. Thankfully, she didn’t ask what others usually did: _how is he_ or _any change?_ The answer was inevitably no, and every time Roy had a similar question he wanted to scream at the one posing it, rage that if there _had_ been a change, didn’t they think that it would be _different_ , that _Roy_ would be different? Couldn’t they see the weight that he carried with him that would have lessened had Ed even twitched in the bed, didn’t they realise that the grit and grime that he felt oozing from his skin would be cleansed if only Ed would wake to forgive him?

At least Hawkeye knew, mercifully let him cling onto fragile threads of hope without feeling the need to yank at them.

But then something rustled, and when he looked over, she was offering him what looked like rice in a takeaway container. “I brought you dinner.”

“I can see that,” Roy said curtly, before turning away. The very smell of it—even though it was fragrant, and light—had Roy’s stomach churning. “I’m not hungry.” Too much. Too much like being at home with Ed, eating off plates while cuddled up on the couch. Too much like Ed bringing him dinner when he worked late into the night. Too much, too much, marking the way that time passed, another meal and night where Ed wasn’t with him.

“You need to eat.” Hawkeye’s tone, usually galvanising, tipped Roy’s fear off the knife’s edge into temper.

“You already brought food in this morning, I don’t need anything more.”

“Well, I’ve also brought a change of clothes so you don’t have to sit in your uniform anymore,” she said drily. “Which you do need.”

Roy grinded his teeth. “I said, I don’t need anything more,”

“Sir, you haven’t left.”

“I know that, Hawkeye.” He didn’t need her to remind him of how long it had been, didn’t need to think of the eternity that he had waited already, and how it might never end. And here he had thought that she knew him, and knew what he needed: quiet, quiet, quiet.

But not too much, because too much meant thinking of a lifetime of never hearing Ed’s voice or his laugh or muttering in his sleep, the way he whistled when he did the chores—

“You’re no use to Edward in the state you’re in.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should at least—”

“I am _not_ leaving him,” Roy growled. “I don’t give a fuck about what—what work there has to be done, or whatever menial task there is. I don’t—I don’t—”

Leaving was giving in. Leaving was accepting that Roy wouldn’t be there when Ed woke, because Ed wouldn’t wake.

And the very thought made Roy want to scream; _how_ could he possibly live without him? He couldn’t. He didn’t know how he had gotten by before Ed. Had he been happy? Surely he had, but he _couldn’t remember_ , and he couldn’t remember how he could possibly be happy, or be _anything_ without Ed. Didn’t know where his anger would go without Ed to catch it, didn’t know how he could—how could he grieve without Ed to help him?

He couldn’t fathom being happy in a universe where Edward Elric didn’t exist.

He didn’t—he didn’t know—

“Roy, breathe for me,” Hawkeye said, the words sounding distant behind Roy’s harsh breaths, too loud in his own ears.

“I can’t—can’t—”

“You don’t need to talk,” Hawkeye said, softly. “Just breathe for me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the word slipping unbidden from his lips. Because he was, he was, he _was_. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Roy, it’s not your fault.”

“You can’t know that!” Roy lowered his head to his hands, shaking it as he tore at his hair. “You can’t—you don’t know—”

“He would forgive you,” Riza said, and she laid her hands over his own.

Objectively, and rooted deep within himself, Roy knew that Ed would, because Ed always had. Every flaw, every misstep and mistake, Ed had always been by Roy’s side. Critical when it was necessary, sometimes harshly so, but he had planted himself beside Roy and never left, never stopped believing him to be _good_. A miracle, because after desert wars and the decisions he had made since in a futile quest to atone, Roy hadn’t felt that there had been much good left in him.

But Ed’s belief was an impossible concept to grasp when Ed himself was lying broken and bloodied in a hospital bed because of Roy’s decisions. The rot that sat so deeply in Roy was harder to fight away when Ed was the one who kept Roy’s fire burning when Roy struggled.

Still, Roy fought. “I know,” he choked, forcing the words out. Casting away Ed’s belief would be casting away _Ed_ himself, and Roy…Roy would fight with every last inch of him to keep that from happening.

So he sat, Riza’s hands over his own, as he fought grief.

* * *

Ed…

…

…

Ed hurt.

It didn’t really twig at first, what the feeling was. There were too many feelings to process—lots of noise, people talking softly, the fog of sleepiness. But under it all, there was discomfort: a twinge in his arm, needles chasing up and down his legs, dull throbbing in his side. But as soon as Ed grasped onto any of those things, it all just kind of mixed into the fog, just another thing that was happening but that wasn’t really all that important.

There were people with him. Well, people close to him. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t really know who it was that was whispering frantically. Someone was apologising. There was also murmuring that Ed couldn’t quite make out, but then there was a harsh whisper which Ed could hear: “you can’t know that!”

More murmuring, more sobbing, and Ed really wanted to see what was going on. Listening in just made him curious, and it was a little annoying that he couldn’t actually figure out what was happening. He still felt like he was waking up from one of those long naps which threw your entire body clock off, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t seem to right himself.

The talkers had quieted a bit now. The other voice was calmer, more soothing. Ed couldn’t really make out the words, but it felt nice to listen to. Whoever had been apologising must have thought so too, because they gradually got quieter, settled down a little bit and their words trailed away.

“I’ll go refill the water,” Calm Voice murmured eventually. “I can stay if you want though.”

For a moment, everything was silent—only the sounds of someone breathing heavily, and the constant hum of machinery.

“No,” the first voice said eventually. “I’ll be fine for a few minutes. A drink would be appreciated.”

“I’ll get one then.”

“Thank you, Riza.”

Oh. Riza.

That was Hawkeye, then. Ed knew Hawkeye. Steady footsteps, the opening and closing of a door. Then back to the humming machinery, back to someone’s ragged breaths. The sound was familiar: that was someone trying to calm themselves down. If Hawkeye was here, then…someone who was with Hawkeye. And Ed…the sound tickled a memory. Being home, being curled up in the dark in a bed he shared with…

“Ed, _please_.”

Roy.

That was…that was _Roy_ crying. Ed had known the voice. It was Roy—Roy sounding absolutely devastated, Roy sounding like the world had gone to shit. Fuck no, he was—Roy, Roy, Roy.

“I can’t do this without you.” Roy’s voice was broken. “Please don’t make me go back to before. Please don’t leave me.”

Ed remembered the first time he had heard Roy cry. It hadn’t been anything particular special—just a day when Roy had woken up balancing on the precipice, and come home from work too small. It was holding Roy in the doorway to their home, Roy shaking to pieces in his arms, that Ed found that he hated when Roy was hurting.

And he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t…he couldn’t even know if this was real. But it still ached in his soul.

“General?”

Hey, Ed knew that voice too. That was…that was…

“Alphonse,” Roy croaked. “I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Something creaked, and cloth shuffled. “That’s not necessary, Roy.” Al sounded tired, and worn in a way that he hadn’t for ages. Ed wanted to tell them that he was sorry. It was his fault—he’d figured that much—and he needed to fix it, needed to apologise for fucking things up again.

“I just—” Another heartbreaking sob, and shit, Roy wasn’t meant to sound like that. Ed couldn’t move. He tried, because he _needed_ to. He needed to, and he just _couldn’t_. “I need him to wake up,” Roy said, and Ed was confused. He was asleep, and he wanted to keep sleeping. But Roy wasn’t usually _sad_ about Ed being asleep. Pissed, but not sad. That meant…ah, shit, Ed was in hospital again, wasn’t he?

With that knowledge came a little bit of fear. He needed to wake up for them. Needed to let them know that he was here at least, and that they didn’t need to be scared anymore.

“I’m so sorry, I know it—I know it must be difficult for you, but I just…I don’t know what to do.”

“It helps to have you here, Roy,” Al said. “You’re not a burden.”

Ed wanted to agree, but he couldn’t _talk_. This happened every time with Roy: he’d take everything on, think everything was his fault, or that he was only allowed to be strong and be made of military steel. Ed thought he’d beaten that lesson out of Roy’s head a while ago, but apparently not.

Roy cleared his throat, and the weight on Ed’s arm disappeared. “Did you need to rest further?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to, honestly. Besides, Ed stayed up many nights for me.” Yeah, because Ed had been the one responsible for the fact that Al hadn’t been able to sleep.

Then silence. Silence, and Ed kept drifting but…he needed to open his eyes. Roy and Al were hurting and he needed to open his eyes. Hawkeye came back, then left, and there were few words exchanged between his brother and Roy. Then Ed was slipping back under, so, so tired.

He didn’t know how long he floated. How long he kept slipping in and out of dark and darker, of vague consciousness and flashes of deep sleep. He drifted to the sound of people coming and going,

When he floated back to the surface, with gentle voices murmuring away, he couldn’t quite remember why it was important to open his eyes. But he knew that he had to, for someone. For someone important. So he strained to wake, tried to move.

“Wait, Al.” Soft, gentle, and familiar. The voice was hoarse, and filled with pain, and Ed had to go back to…whoever that was. It was important. He tried to move again. “Al, Al,” the person breathed. “Al, I think—Ed?” _Yes, I’m here_. “Ed, baby can you hear us?”

 _Yes, yes, yes_. Someone groaned, and it took Ed’s brain a moment to realise it was him. “I’ve called the nurse. Brother, we’re here.”

“Love, come to us.”

Now there was light, and damn his eyelids felt like someone had melded them together. His teeth felt…tacky, which was _gross_ , and it didn’t feel like he could breathe properly. Or hear properly; everything sounded distant, and his head was pounding.

When he did manage to pry his eyes open, it didn’t really register at first. Everything was just coming to him in patches of sensation, as though his brain hadn’t wired into reality just yet, the connection still weak. Yellow was the first thing that he noticed. Yellow light, very bright, and it took a moment before he realised it was sunlight.

“Give him some room,” someone murmured, and that was a voice he didn’t recognise. No, he wanted the first voice back. The one that reminded him of being safe and home, and being held close.

“Brother?” Different voice, but this one was nice too. Still felt like home, like firm ground underneath his feet.

With huge effort, he managed to get his mouth moving. “Al,” he croaked, or at least he thought he did. He tried again. “Roy?” Roy was…Roy was his. He still couldn’t quite get a hold of everything yet, but the name formed easily, even though he hadn’t quite caught up to why it was important yet. It just belonged to someone that was his.

“We’re here, love,” First Voice said. Roy, Ed remembered. Roy’s voice. Roy’s voice shaking as he murmured nonsense words, words that meant everything to Ed because it just…filled him. Anchored him, and he sighed as he tried to get his eyes to focus on where he was.

Then he realised exactly what Roy was saying: his name, over and over, whispered like a prayer.

“Edward,” he said, quiet and reverent. “Edward, Edward, Edward…”

People were shuffling around him, but when he opened his eyes, all that mattered was the man in front of him: clothes crumpled, eyes bloodshot, and with a helpless smile that looked like Ed had lifted the moon to the sky.

“Edward,” Roy breathed. “My Edward.”

And when Roy leaned forward, Ed moved too so he could rest his forehead against Roy’s, closing his eyes to the rest of the world as he felt his man breathe with him.

 _Roy_.

* * *

Several weeks later saw them blessedly _home_. Those intervening weeks had seen Roy continuing to pretty much live at the hospital, but he hadn’t been able to bear to leave Ed’s side. Riza had eventually been able to bully him into eating a little, into a shower and a change of clothes, and Roy had finally been able to stomach it. But it wasn’t until this moment that Roy could truly relax: back home, with Ed curled up on the couch and tucked up against Roy’s side, as was his rightful place. He was leafing through a book slightly awkwardly due to the cast that still hampered his right arm, and Roy was just…enjoying the quiet. Staring out the window as his mind wandered, content with the peace and with Ed’s warmth next to him. His eyes drifted closed as he just basked in it: the occasional rustle of some bird or other creature outside in their garden, the shuffling of a page as Ed progressed through his work, the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

“Why’s it always this arm?” Ed muttered, breaking the silence.

Roy opened his eyes to soft yellow light. “Why’s it always you?” Roy asked back, and immediately regretted the words.

Ed frowned. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Ah, nothing.”

“No, that had weird Mustang hidden meaning. Spit it out, Roy.”

Roy shrugged, a little helplessly. “You were hurt on my command again, that’s all.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but if Ed was anything like Roy, he had learnt to read all the subtleties in his husband’s voice, his body, and pick up on those cues.

As always, Ed proved as intelligent as Roy knew. “Roy,” he said, sounding exasperated. Exasperated, as though he hadn’t just been almost killed on another mission, as though Roy hadn’t almost lost everything mere weeks ago.

“Edward,” Roy returned.

That earned him an elbow to the gut. “Don’t be a shit.” But then Ed snuggled closer, and Roy enjoyed the feeling too much to pretend to be winded. His fingers curled in Ed’s hair—smooth, clean ( _not tinted horribly red with blood_ ), soft against Roy’s skin. “You _know_ it wasn’t your fault.”

Ah, but did he?

“I…” What was there to say that Ed hadn’t already heard? “I’m sorry,” was what Roy settled on. And he was, though he had apologised to Ed before, for this, and for so much else.

Ed sighed, and shifted so he could kiss Roy’s shoulder. He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the ticking of the clock on their mantel. Then, “you remember you proposed here?”

Roy blinked at the sudden change in topic, but smiled at the memory. He reached for Ed’s hand, and kissed the golden band settled snugly on his finger. “How could I forget?” he murmured. It had been one of the happiest nights of his life. Nothing special in perhaps the normal sense of the word; simply a quiet night in, with the two of them in their home, and the love between them.

“Yeah, it was pretty memorable,” Ed said, and grinned. “When I asked you what the fuck you were giving me, you—you said ‘this is known as a ring’, you shit.” Roy started laughing, and Ed’s smile grew as he continued with the impression. “It can be worn as a fashion accessory.”

Heart overflowing with affection, Roy tugged Ed closer to him, and Ed buried his face in Roy’s neck. His hair spilled down over his shoulders, and Roy fiddled absently with the strands. “That is a fairly poor impression of me.”

“Nah, I been around long enough to get you down pat.”

Roy grumbled, but loved Ed all the same. “I beg to differ.”

“Point is,” Ed said, ignoring him, “I promised to love you. I would’ve done it anyway, but I promised to love you exactly how I knew you, and that I’d stand with you. It’s not just about you looking out for me. Me—and the rest of the team—we all know what we signed up for.”

Roy’s heart was in his throat. “But it was _my_ command,” he said quietly, ashamed. “You’re my responsibility.”

“Roy, we’re meant to be a team.” Ed, in his turn, clasped Roy’s hand, and kissed his calloused palm. The palm with the scars from the fight with Bradley, the skin which bore his gloves. Then golden eyes turned to meet Roy’s own, and they were honest, and trusting. There was a gentle smile on Ed’s lips, and so much love in his expression. “I’m meant to look after you too.”

“I—” There were no words. No words for the fullness in Roy’s heart, in Roy’s life since Ed had walked into it. “You do,” he said, voice hoarse. “I just…I almost _lost_ you, Ed.” And it terrified him. It had shaken him to the core, set him on this horrible, horrible hypothetical of fear and hopelessness.

“I’m here,” Ed said softly, and his fingers trailed gently against Roy’s cheek. Roy leaned into the touch, closed his eyes, and let himself breathe. Ed was _safe_. Ed was home with him, and he tried desperately to convince himself that things were all right.

“I know, it was just…horrible,” he admitted to the dark.

“I know,” Ed said, his voice gentle in Roy’s ear. “But not every horrible thing is your fault, Roy.”

At that, Roy opened his eyes, and had to swallow around the lump in his throat. “You’re rather familiar with the temptation yourself.”

“I am,” Ed agreed. “And y’know what? You taught me to start moving past that. You taught me to slow down and think about things before it got out of control.”

Roy swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, that wasn’t the _point_.” Ed sighed. “Point was that I’m here for you, all right? Through everything.”

And he had been, hadn’t he? Even when he’d been unconscious, when Roy had begged him to wake up, he had. Every step of the way, Ed had been by his side. Resolutely, loudly, sometimes with excessive yelling and backtalk, but he had been there. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I’m grateful for it.”

Ed huffed. “You better be. Now cuddle me already, I’m injured.”

Roy laughed, and obliged. He was grateful. His husband’s hand was in his, pressed against his side, and thankfully alive. Knowing how quickly it could all go away, Roy would be grateful for everything that had been, and for everything that was to come.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i got lazy with the summary and title....
> 
> Comments and kudos make me happy, especially because this was a struggle, massively. On [tumblr](http://psyraah.tumblr.com/post/156527858182/predictable) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/starchydreams/status/825658201169203200) :DD


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